


Merry Cookies

by musicforswimming



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Cookies, Gen, Holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-07
Updated: 2004-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforswimming/pseuds/musicforswimming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first Christmas after they change the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [fox1013](http://fox1013.livejournal.com) as a birthday present.

The apartment is -- nice.

They knew Faith had Council funds, but she'd been all over the world tracking down new Slayers, and although she would check in sometimes, they had largely left each other alone.

And then, one day, Willow had stumbled across a phone number, given to a new Slayer, and Buffy had called her. It's a New York number, and it turns out that she's living there now, a little apartment in the Village. Not huge, Buffy finds when she gets there, but not tiny, either. But, then, Council funds, with the way things are being run now, make for comfy Slayers.

Faith has a place now. And she doesn't seem to hate the idea of a visit. So, eleven days before Christmas, Buffy goes to New York. Dawn, Willow, and Kennedy are loose in the city for the moment, while Buffy is seeing Faith.

It's not fancy. But there's a little tree on the table, decorated with lights, and the place...it doesn't suck.

Buffy sniffs the air after Faith answers the door and, a little uncertainly, lets her in. "Is something burning?"

Faith frowns, then swears softly and runs into the kitchen. When Buffy gets there, she's slamming the oven shut and turning it off, her face angry. "God_damnit_," Faith snarls, kicking the oven door. It falls open with a bang, a loud crashing bang that makes Buffy flinch a little.

She goes over to look. "What's up?" The light from the oven wavers and ripples, swirling and shimmering. Heat's coming off of it.

"Fucking cookies," Faith mutters, her head down, as she grabs a potholder and yanks the cookie sheet out of the oven, slamming it onto the stovetop. "Piece of shit oven."

The cookies are dark at the edges. They've burned. Buffy looks at them, and then at Faith. "You made cookies?" she asks, with a little bit of laughter to her voice.

"Yes, B. I made fucking cookies." Faith's voice is soft, angry, and Buffy suddenly understands that she's really upset about this. She stands there for a few silent, awkward moments, during which Faith tosses the potholder back onto the counter, turns around, and opens the fridge to grab a beer. "You want one?" she asks.

It's the beer she means, Buffy realizes. She had been looking at the cookies, frowning thoughtfully, and at that, she looks up, shakes her head. "No, thanks."

Faith shrugs, and stalks out of the tiny kitchen. Buffy hesitates, and then turns around. She studies the cookies for another couple of seconds -- they're still kinda gooshy-looking in the middles; Faith must've had the oven on too high. Probably, it's not like Buffy's Miss Bakery 2004, but it makes sense.

The sound of the TV comes from the other room. Buffy stands there, staring at the cookies on the sheet, for another couple of seconds. The cookie sheet is really shiny, and Buffy realizes that it must be new. And suddenly she knows -- she doesn't know how, she just _knows_ \-- that Faith bought it just for this, for making cookies, for making cookies for _Buffy_, and Buffy doesn't quite understand.

Finally, she starts opening cupboards and drawers, and finds a plate that's big enough and a spatula, and starts putting the cookies onto the plate. They're still very soft, although they'll probably harden as they cool, and when one slides off the spatula and drops upside-down onto the plate, Buffy notices (as she curses softly) that the bottom isn't entirely blackened.

They're chocolate chip, but there are little candy shapes on them, too, bells and trees in red and green, and suddenly, even though Christmas is still more than a week off and Faith doesn't strike her as being much of one for the holiday spirit, Buffy feels bad that she didn't bring Faith a present.

Buffy sets the plate down on the coffee table, a little awkwardly, and Faith stares at it. "What the fuck is that?" she asks, looking suspiciously at Buffy.

"Cookies," Buffy says simply, and then adds, "Duh."

"Yeah, I know," Faith says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What'd you do with 'em? They're ruined. You shoulda just thrown 'em out if you were gonna do anything with 'em."

"Well, first of all," Buffy answers, sitting down next to Faith on the couch, "It's your kitchen. And you were the one who made them. So if anyone's cleaning up, it should be you. And second of all, they're not ruined."

"What are you talking about?" Faith picks one of the cookies up and hisses. "Fuck. It's hot. What are you talking about, B? It's ruined. Look. Burned. I screwed it up."

"You didn't -- "

"Why are you rubbing it in?" The question is asked softly, as Faith tosses the cookie back down on the plate.

Buffy stares at her. "Is that really what you think -- "

"Of course it's really what I think," Faith says, looking up and laughing a little, bitterly. "You always have, haven't you? 'Course you're rubbing it in. I bet if you'd'a made 'em, they'd've been better than Martha Stewart could make, right? Tell me, Buffy, what did I do wrong?"

"For the love of God, Faith, will you just eat the damn cookies?"

Faith sits back, arms crossed, and simply stares at Buffy, her face hard. They stay like that for a couple of moments, staring at one another, and finally, Buffy rolls her eyes. As she sits down next to Faith, she picks up a cookie and bites into it.

It _is_ hot. But it's also still soft. And, okay, a little bit of that burned taste, but it's not all that noticeable. A cookie's a cookie.

"They're good," Buffy finally says. Her voice sounds strange, even to her, soft in this room. "Is it, like -- a family recipe or something?"

Faith snorts. "Yeah. Courtesy of my sweet little grandmother, Molly Sue Nestle Tollhouse."

Buffy feels stupid, and eats the rest of her cookie.

Faith sits there for another few moments in silence, staring at the tv, clearly not happy. At last, though, she picks up a cookie off of the plate, and takes a bite out of it. She's silent as she chews it.

"See?" Buffy asks, smiling a little. "Good."

Faith says nothing. Buffy smiles again, privately, because that means that Faith agrees with her. She takes another cookie.


End file.
